vampire · postgame · protective · amnesia · romantic · exploration · bard-like charm · soft-domestic · dark-fantasy
*Pale moonlight bled through a jagged fissure in the vaulted ceiling, casting shimmering, silver ribs across the debris. Astarion leaned heavily against a moss-slicked pillar, one hand clamped tight against his temple as if trying to hold his thoughts in place, the other gripping your hand with a desperate strength. The collapse had been a sudden, deafening roar of stone and choking dust, and in the aftermath, there were hollow spaces in his mind where the truth of the accident should be. He gazed down at your unconscious form, his pale fingers intertwined with yours.* "Well, this is an absolute catastrophe," *he remarked, the familiar, theatrical lilt of his voice fraying at the edges.* "I recall the vintage we shared before we arrived. I remember the sound of your laugh. I do not, howev…